


like stealing

by quiettoxic



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Rough Sex, inappropriate use of magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 07:59:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7161485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiettoxic/pseuds/quiettoxic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Like that, huh?”</p><p>Norway tilts his chin up in a defiant gesture. Definitely like that.</p><p>“Very well.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	like stealing

**Author's Note:**

> Originally for the prompt 'rough sex' of the thirty day nsfw challenge, now just... Here.
> 
> Title from Kamikaze Love by the Poets of the Fall. (I'm continuing this trend for a while longer.)
> 
>  
> 
> _Leaves you reeling,_  
>  _Feels like stealing,_  
>  _Frantic moments of Kamikaze Love_

Romania grins manically from where he’s pressed up against the wall, all teeth, the glint in his eyes a promise of danger. Norway practically growls at him, shoving at his shoulders, but the grin only grows wider in response, and Romania pushes back until Norway stumbles, his grip slackening long enough for Romania to switch their positions.

The breath is knocked out of Norway when he slams against the wall. Romania wastes no time – he’s ripping his shirt open immediately, buttons flying off and away, and Norway would be mad if he weren’t busy trying to do the same thing to him. Romania’s making it difficult, though, fingers and mouth on Norway’s body restricting movement, so eventually Norway sends a burst of magic his way that has him reeling back to the opposite wall, and then, because he can, Norway rips the man’s nice red dress shirt open with a flick of his finger. Romania pants, smirking lopsidedly.

“Like that, huh?”

Norway tilts his chin up in a defiant gesture. Definitely like that.

“Very well.”

And then there’s a surge of heated energy rippling through Norway’s body. He has to clench his teeth to keep from moaning – he is not going to give Romania that satisfaction, not yet. Instead, he sends his own blast of energy back, and relishes seeing the other man go rigid, curling his toes into the carpet of the hotel room, wringing his fingers into the fabric of his slacks. He sends another blast immediately afterwards, which makes Romania’s knees buckle and sends him to the floor with a gasp.

“You play dirty,” he pants, and now it’s Norway’s turn to smirk. He walks over to the man, throwing his ruined shirt on the floor as he goes. He won’t need it anymore.

“So what if I do?” he asks, kneeling in front of Romania.

He looks up through choppy strands of brown hair, and there’s still that twinkle in his eyes, so Norway is not really surprised when he surges forward and slams their lips together for a messy kiss. He gets a hand in Romania’s hair, pulling him down with him when he falls over until he’s sitting on the ground with Romania straddling his thighs, which, admittedly, wasn’t entirely the plan, but Norway can’t say he’s opposed to it. Romania rakes blunt fingernails down his upper body, and Norway bites down on his lip in response, eliciting a throaty growl.

Hands yank at his belt, and the leather slaps against bare skin when it slips out of the buckle. Norway is hanging on to Romania’s neck by now, the man leaning over him, his hair brushing Norway’s jaw and his shirt tickling his abdomen. It’s a wet mess between their mouths.

This isn’t right, Norway thinks. So he summons the energy to flip them over.

Romania is too late to resist, and a split second later, Norway is smirking down at him from his position over his hips. He’s a mess already, his lips and chin slick with saliva, his pupils dilated, and his shirt spread out on the floor like tattered wings. Quickly, Norway traps his arms with a spell, but Romania is nothing if not crafty, and Norway curses under his breath when tendons of heat seem to caress his torso, just shy of painful.

It’s always heat with him.

“Well?” Romania asks, snapping his hips up sharply. His hands are opening and closing, but his arms remain pinned to the floor. It’s a satisfying sight.

“You fucker,” Norway grunts in response, grinding his own hips own, and the man grins.

“You’re saying it.”

The heat spreads out over his chest until it’s hard to concentrate on anything else, which is apparently exactly what Romania was aiming for, because the moment Norway’s concentration wavers enough for his arms to spring free, he’s flipping them back, and then his mouth – also hot – is on Norway’s neck, sucking and biting harshly while his fingers make short work of his pants.

“Fucker,” Norway repeats, and he feels Romania grin before he bites down on his collarbone, _hard_. Norway can’t help but arch his back up into the heat the man seems to radiate. He feels fingers start to wriggle underneath his pants, but he’s faster – a quick spell to open Romania’s fly, and then he can reach inside, clasping his hand firmly around the man’s hard cock.

Romania curses and looks up at him while he bites down again, surely leaving a mark that will be hard to explain, but then again, Norway doesn’t really care what most people think anyway.

“You are,” Romania grunts, still trying to get his fingers into Norway’s slacks, “absolutely fucking insufferable.”

Norway almost laughs, because that’s usually his line, but he just squeezes Romania’s cock in response, a little on the harsh side.

“And your pants are too tight,” he adds. And then there’s a _rip_. Norway arches his back, gasping, when hot fingers close around his cock and cool air hits the skin of his hips.

“You did _not_ just fuckin’ rip my favorite slacks,” he growls, and Romania just rolls a nipple between his teeth, chuckling low in his throat. Even though there’s waves of arousal rolling through his body, Norway adds, “Ass.”

“You’re very rude today,” Romania says, sounding scorned. A hand surges up, yanking at Norway’s hair, tilting his head back to expose more of his neck. Norway twists his fingers into Romania’s hair before he can get around to putting his mouth there, and they hold that position for a moment, breathing heavily.

Then Romania abruptly lets go, and tries to pull back, so Norway releases his grip as well.

“At the very least, let’s not have sex on the floor.” He inclines his head towards the bed, and Norway supposes a mattress, however thin or worn-out, does sound more appealing than the scratchy carpet currently chafing his back, so he sits up and – foolishly – lets Romania haul him to his feet by his wrist. Before he knows it, he’s on his back on the bed with the man hovering over him again. His shirt is gone now, and he is trying to tug Norway’s ruined slacks off without removing his shoes.

Norway waits until he begins to jerk at the shiny leather of his shoes in frustration, then wraps his legs around Romania and pushes him over, pulling a surprised cry from his throat.

“What, ya thought I was just gonna lie back and take it?” he almost sneers. He pushes his knees down on Romania’s arms.

“Man can dream.” Romania’s reddish eyes cast around, probably trying to think of a way to escape. He pushes his hips up, perhaps trying to buck Norway off, but he remains where he is, only moving to put his hands on Romania’s wrists instead so he can shuffle down. The man writhes, grunting quietly, to no avail.

Norway reaches a dilemma when he’s poised over Romania’s shimmying hips – he either has to let go of his arms to get his pants off, or risk spelling them away, which he knows from experience isn’t always the best idea.

A small source of heat unfurls in his chest, and he glares at Romania, who just smirks dangerously. Norway quickly lets go of his wrists and tugs his slacks away without too much trouble – Romania’s not wearing shoes – so that he’s naked in an instant, and cursing in surprise. But then he collects himself. The heat grows again, but Norway grits his teeth and ignores it best he can. Romania tugs at his neck and scratches his chest, and he ignores that too, reaching down instead, to cup the man’s balls, squeeze them, and then slide his hand further down, muttering under his breath as he moves.

He relishes Romania’s curse when he breaches him with his suddenly slick and cold middle finger, leaning over him to smirk.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Romania grits out, momentarily too stunned to move.

Norway pushes a second finger into him, moves them in quick, harsh thrusts. Romania gasps and begins moving all at once – he tugs Norway down by his neck, rocks his hips, and his whole body seems to arch up against him. The heat in Norway’s chest shatters, leaving just his own arousal and his pounding heart. He pushes Romania down with his other hand on the man’s breastbone, and then he tries to move his legs so that it is easier for him to reach down, only Romania hasn’t given up yet and flips them over again. Norway’s fingers slip from his ass, and while he’s disoriented, Romania somehow – magically, probably – removes his pants and shoes, and then he feels slick but _really fucking hot_ fingers press against his own hole. He curses.

Grinning, Romania lifts his left leg, and Norway frustratingly can’t reach him easily, so he wrings his fingers into the rough hotel sheets instead, as Romania pushes one, then two fingers into him. He mimics Norway’s quick thrusts from earlier, gritting his teeth in determination. Norway consciously keeps himself from moaning, even though he likes this, he likes being manhandled – because he also likes manhandling, and it’s not time to let Romania have the satisfaction of having known he won yet.

A third finger, stretching him further, thrusting deeper. Norway suddenly sees sparks and his leg twitches against Romania’s shoulder, where it’s quite uncomfortably being held. The man smirks, leaning over to him. His leg bends further, and the fingers keep shoving into him.

“Having fun there?” Romania asks, his voice a little hoarse.

Norway responds by yanking at his hair, dragging him down until he can – not kiss, more like bite at his lips, but Romania huffs a laugh and lets it happen, still moving his fingers. His other hand clenches in Norway’s hair, then slides to his throat, where it squeezes just enough not to cut off his breath. Norway groans, rakes his fingernails down Romania’s arm, biting down on his jaw, and the fingers squeeze a little harder – still not cutting off his breath, but he wheezes all the same, his heart hammering against his ribcage.

Romania nudges his chin up so he can bite down there, sharp teeth scraping along Norway’s jaw even as he pulls his fingers out of him, and then, without further warning, shoves his cock inside instead.

It sends a tingling wave of heat up Norway’s spine, and he shudders and curses. He catches Romania looking down at him carefully for a split second, maybe searching for a sign of discomfort, but when he doesn’t find any, he begins to move, not a hint of grace in his movements. He pounds hard and fast, and Norway, hearing the bed creak dangerously, distantly thinks _Austria will kill us if we break his hotel_ , but it’s drowned out by the tingles shooting up and down his body quickly.

Romania’s hand still squeezes his throat, even as he sits a little straighter up, and Norway digs his nails into the man’s wrist, half to keep him there and half to put up some token resistance. His leg is being moved, then, straight up like he’s some sort of pornstar. He glares at Romania, though he’s afraid the expression loses much of its power because he has to moan halfway through, when Romania does something that has his toes curling in pleasure. Warmth curls low in his belly, warmth that has nothing to do with Romania’s magic tricks for once.

The man in question is sweaty, brown hair sticking to the back of his neck and his forehead, and Norway thinks about how nice he would look spread out underneath him, unable to move…

In a complicated shift that combines his magic and his natural flexibility, Norway manages to achieve exactly that – well, the first part anyway, but he pushes Romania’s arms down on the mattress again, so he thinks it counts.

“What the hell just happened?” Romania pants, spitting a strand of hair from his mouth. Norway leans over him, smiling sweetly.

“I won, that’s what.”

He picks up the punishing pace from before, only now he’s the one setting it, and Romania can do little but groan and buck his hips in time. The man presses his head into the pillow, clenches his fists in the sheets and breathes curses, but his eyes remain steady on Norway’s face, nearly-red almost completely swallowed by the black of his pupils. Norway lets go of his arms to push on his shoulders, giving himself more leverage. He feels his hair slipping loose from its clip, and some strands fall in his face when he leans forward, grunting.

As soon as his arms are free, Romania’s nails scrape over Norway’s back again, pulling him down. He snaps his hips sharper, driving his cock further into Norway. It’s hot, and it stings in a pleasant way. Norway wraps his pale fingers around Romania’s neck in return, hoisting him up into a half-sitting position. He can see the muscles in his stomach work to keep him there, and the man’s chest heaves fast. His nails dig into Norway’s shoulder blades, pulling him down until Romania’s cock is forced to the hilt inside him, and then he clenches his teeth in a lewd grin, and comes.

Norway presses their mouths together – and it’s really nothing more than a hot, wet tangle of tongues and teeth and Romania moaning, muffled, as he spills hot inside him. Norway screws his eyes shut, clenches down on Romania, who growls and bites Norway’s lips. His body goes heavy in Norway’s hands as he comes undone, muscles relaxing. Norway lets him fall, watching his hair and arms spread out over the pillow messily, but then he pulls off his cock and crawls over his upper body. Romania opens his eyes and looks up at him, questioning.

“What?” Norway asks. He does not say anything else, just shuffles up and up until he can push his cock against Romania’s lips, one hand holding on to the flimsy headboard and the other in the man’s hair. Romania glares at him and refuses to part his lips, so Norway sighs, then makes a small gesture with his fingers that cuts the man’s breath off very briefly, but abruptly enough that it startles him into opening his mouth. Norway pushes in without hesitation.

Romania splutters but doesn’t try to pull away beyond the initial reflex. They’ve been here often enough now. He even keeps his teeth nicely tucked away.

Norway thrusts into the wet heat of his mouth, and Romania holds his thighs, again with his nails digging into sensitive skin, but that only turns Norway on more. He clutches the headboard with twitching fingers, keeping his eyes on Romania. There’s saliva slipping from the corners of his mouth, he’s flushed, and his hair is an absolute mess, and it’s a very satisfying – not to mention hot – thing to see.

Norway’s close, and his thrusts become erratic. Romania doesn’t seem to mind when he gags a little, because he’s pulling Norway down until he’s fucking the man’s face in earnest. Norway holds the headboard with both hands. He doesn’t care that it creaks and groans in protest, because all of a sudden all the heat explodes like a coiled spring coming loose, and he comes undone with a growl.

Romania coughs, then, shoving him off – because unlike Norway, he does not like having his breath restricted. Norway falls over compliantly. He shudders through the aftershocks of his orgasm with his face against Romania’s shoulder. The nation chuckles and pets his hair.

“You definitely won,” he says, his voice now more than a little hoarse. It's hot.

“I did,” Norway confirms. He feels wrung out in the best way.

“I guess you’re not leaving.”

He looks up at Romania. “’Course not. Let’s sleep.”

"Sleep sounds good.”

So, because neither of them has ever bothered to learn any cleaning spells – and what does that say about them, Norway wonders – Romania halfheartedly cleans up the mess with a corner of the sheets, and then they shove at each other trying to get comfortable, and eventually Norway drifts off listening to Romania’s even breathing.

Romania kicks in his sleep.


End file.
